


Destinations

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, QPQ verse, QPQVerse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, though - this is different. Alex was supposed to arrive thirty minutes ago, dressed for dinner and packed for their weekend away in Oxford (some obscure waterfront bed and breakfast where George knows the owners, where they could truly be themselves). They had plans. Thirty minutes late - that’s not like Alex. Quid Pro Quo verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destinations

**Author's Note:**

> This is just one of those things I couldn't get out of my mind after finishing up rillrill's [Quid Pro Quo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5880157?view_full_work=true). It felt strange writing fanfiction based off of fanfiction, but I love the world she built around this pairing and couldn't resist.
> 
> I don't think you necessarily have to read QPQ to follow this fic, though it helps - and you should read it, anyway. Parts of this specifically reference a scene in [chapter 27.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5880157/chapters/14023316)
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not completely uncommon for Alex to be late. Five minutes here, fifteen minutes there. It used to make George’s skin crawl. He’s always prided himself on his own promptness and efficiency. Now, he knows it’s just something that sort of comes with the Alexander Hamilton package - it’s something he’s had to grow used to.

He knows when Alex does it to set him off. He knows when Alex wants to be punished for it. He also knows when it’s a genuine mistake. With the way Alex’s mind wanders - the way it’s constantly on fire - George knows it’s easy for him to simply lose track of time. Sometimes when Alex catches up to him, face flushed and panting, it’s worth it. If only for that image.

This, though - this is different. Alex was supposed to arrive thirty minutes ago, dressed for dinner and packed for their weekend away in Oxford (some obscure waterfront bed and breakfast where George knows the owners, where they could truly be themselves). They had plans. 

Thirty minutes late - that’s not like Alex.

George sits down heavily on his couch as he types out a text, _Hope you’re just held up somewhere? Our dinner reservation is for 6:15. Could probably still make it if you’re here in 5. Put an Uber on my card if you need to. See you soon. -G_

He hits send and leans back with a sigh, letting his phone fall screen up on the cushion next to him. He keeps one ear trained to the door as he absently flips through a few cable news channels, nothing quite holding his attention. He switches the TV off minutes later, scoops his phone back up and wanders into the kitchen.

He has enough food and wine to make them a decent dinner if they miss their reservation entirely. He carefully considers the contents of his fridge. He could make a Greek salad. Definitely. Maybe some stuffed green peppers with brown rice, too. He’d been looking forward to trying out this new restaurant with Alex, though - an Asian fusion place in Penn Quarter. Its first location in the states, but originally based out of London. Angelica wouldn’t shut up about it on Instagram, Alex had said.

It’s 5:50 p.m. now. There’s no text back from Alex, not even a read receipt. When he tries to call, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Damn it,” George mutters to the empty room, shooting off another text, even though he knows it’s futile. It’s fine, though - this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has let his phone die. He’s fine. 

George grabs his keys off the kitchen island, pulls a jacket out of the entryway closet and makes his way out to his car. The drive to Alex’s apartment isn’t so bad for a Friday night, but they’ve already missed their dinner reservation by the time he arrives.

He knocks twice before letting himself in with his own key. The apartment he found for Alex is a modestly sized studio with modern furnishings, hardwood floors, an in-house washer and dryer unit, a dishwasher - everything George thought he’d need to feel comfortable and cared for. Initially, he’d wanted to spoil Alex with a two bedroom. An extra room for a home office - a study. Alex had resisted that almost immediately, and they’d nearly compromised on a one bedroom a few blocks from George’s own home before Alex had found the studio on HotPads, and that was that. George still thinks it’s too small, but the way Alex’s face had lit up during the showing - that was genuine. That made it OK.

George switches on the lights and takes in the apartment. No Alex. The space is a bit of a disaster zone - dishes overflowing in the sink, papers scattered across the coffee table, a random stack of books balanced on top of the Keurig. He makes a mental note to hire a maid - someone who could stop by once a week, at least, to tidy up.

It occurs to George that Alex never made it home after work (George’s own schedule had him in meetings for the better part of the afternoon - he hasn’t seen Alex since the lunch hour). His overnight bag is open on top of his duvet, and his laptop bag - the one he hauls around everywhere - is nowhere to be found in the small apartment.

Something’s not right. 

George paces the length of the tiny galley kitchen and hits Martha’s name on his iPhone. She picks up after one ring.

“Darling?”

“Martha - is Eliza there with you now?”

Martha pauses on the other end. There’s the distinct clinking of wine glasses and silverware in the background. It’s Martha and Eliza’s turn for a weekend away at Mount Vernon - he suspects they’re out on the east lawn’s patio right now, taking advantage of the evening’s perfect weather. There, the view of the Potomac is breathtaking - especially in the fall, when the leaves change their colors. It’s a view George had somewhat taken for granted until he saw the way Alex had marveled.

Martha’s clear voice brings him back.

“She’s right here, yes. George, is everything all right?”

“I hope so. Put her on, please?”

He hears Martha say something to Eliza followed by Eliza’s muffled response. More clinking. And then -  

“Hello? George?”

He sits down in one of Alex’s kitchen chairs and swallows hard, trying not to let any anxiety he’s feeling show through in his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you two tonight. But I can’t find Alex. We were set to meet for dinner nearly an hour ago, but I haven’t heard from him. His phone’s dead. I’m at his apartment right now but, well, he’s not here. Have you heard anything?”

“Oh,” Eliza says quietly, and then whispers the news to Martha. “I - no, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard from him since this morning - we were texting about some new coffee place on 17th. I texted him on my way out of the office and - yeah, nothing since then.”

George inhales sharply. Eliza is silent on the other line.

“I’m sorry,” she says again after a beat. “I’m sure, wherever he is, he’s fine.”

She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but George chooses to believe it, anyway. Panicking now won’t do him any good. He runs through a list of Alex’s friends in his head, and he suspects Eliza’s doing the same, because then -

“John Laurens,” Eliza says. “Have you tried John Laurens?”

“I don’t have his number. Do you?” George stands up from his seat and scans the room, looking for an address book, a sticky note with a number jotted down on it - anything. It’s hopeless, he knows.

“I don’t,” Eliza admits. And then, “But you should ask Gilbert. He’d have it. Keep us updated, please?” 

He fires off a text to Lafayette as soon as he’s off the phone with Eliza. Lafayette, still deep in his honeymoon stage, has been talking about his date night with Adrienne all week. He knows Lafayette would answer his phone eagerly, regardless, but he doesn’t want to interrupt. Just as George expected, Lafayette responds in a matter of seconds with John’s number and a note, _Is everything all right?_

He punches out a quick response. _Thank you. It should be. I’ll explain later._

He taps John’s number inside the text and holds his breath, waiting. The ringing feels drawn out - unbearably slow - and his call is about to go to voicemail when, finally, someone picks up.

“Hey?” The voice is groggy, cracked.

“John? This is George Washington. Is Alex - tell me you know where he is. Please." 

“I - ” there’s a muffled conversation - George can tell John’s covered his phone’s mouthpiece. And then, more clearly, “Yeah, he’s here. Come over.”

* * *

It takes what feels like an eternity before he finally makes it to John’s apartment - it’s like every red light, every incompetent driver has conspired against him. He’s about to jump out of his car when he realizes he isn’t exactly taking his usual precautions. He sends John a text, _Is anyone else home?_ John responds, _roommates all out. you’re good._

John answers the door in a hooded sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants, his curly hair pulled back loosely and his eyes…his eyes are red and swollen. George looks him up and down - he can’t help it. Something’s wrong.

“Alex is in the bedroom,” John says, voice scratchy, before George can even form words. He follows John into his own bedroom, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it throughout his body, and that’s where he finds Alex - sprawled out under John’s quilts and duvet, fast asleep, his mouth hanging open. His face resembles John’s - blotchy red skin, swollen eyes. They’ve both been crying.

George stands frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing and coming up with nothing. He forces his feet to move until he’s perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Alex’s hip over the patchwork quilt. He stirs just slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes. George’s heart flutters. He feels nauseous.

“What happened? Is he - is he hurt?” he asks, dragging his eyes away from Alex and over to John, who’s still standing in the doorway. John sniffs and shakes his head.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he assures him, stepping closer to the bed to look down at Alex. “He just - I don’t know what to say. You should probably hear it from him.”

George studies John carefully. He doesn’t know much about him, he realizes. He’s Alex’s best friend - he knows that much. He knows they used to be…something. He knows how much Alex cares about him, and how much John cares about him in return. If he’s being completely honest with himself, it does make him just slightly uncomfortable - this idea that there’s someone who knows Alex in ways he doesn’t yet. In ways he might never know him. But that’s…that’s not important right now, he reminds himself, turning back to Alex and cupping one flushed cheek in his palm. He’s warm - not feverish, though. Alex turns into it with a quiet moan.

“Hey,” George says, bringing the hand resting on Alex’s hip up to squeeze his waist. Alex opens his eyes, then - dark and glassy - and immediately screws them shut.

“Fuck,” he whispers through gritted teeth, his fingers circling around George’s wrist and squeezing. “I fell back asleep I - shit, I - sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” George says again, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple and frowning at the way Alex hisses when he inhales. “Come on, I’m going to take you home. Unless you want to stay here tonight?” 

Alex, eyes still closed, considers it for a moment. Then he shakes his head. “No. I want to go with you.”

George nods and helps Alex sit up on the edge of the bed. His body feels heavy in George’s arms. John reenters with Alex’s shoes and jacket in hand before ducking out into the living room again.

He kneels down in front of Alex despite his weak protests and makes quick work of putting his shoes on for him, tying the laces. He can feel Alex staring down at him.

“Alex, love,” he says, looking up as he tightens the lace on his right shoe. He rests a heavy hand on his knee, keeping his touch gentle. “You scared me tonight. What on Earth - ?”

He watches Alex sink his teeth into his bottom lip. He shakes his head. “Can we talk about this later?”

George can’t help but frown, and he notices the way Alex’s own face falls. He pushes himself off the ground and kisses Alex’s forehead as he stands upright.

“Back at my place, then,” he agrees, carding a hand through Alex’s hair and tilting his chin up, just slightly. “Are you ready?”

* * *

The car ride back to George’s apartment is silent. When Alex does finally speak up, his voice is hoarse.

“Nothing happened,” he says, looking straight ahead at the road, the red taillights of the Honda in front of them reflecting in his eyes. “With John, I mean. I mean - I know what it could’ve looked like, but I didn’t want you to think that - well, yeah.”

George frowns when he realizes how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, the way his knuckles protrude under his skin. He takes one hand off and rests it on Alex’s knee, squeezing. “I know nothing happened,” he says, honestly. “You know I trust you.”

Alex closes his eyes for a few minutes and George wonders if he’s falling back asleep. And then, he sits back up with a start.

“Oh, fuck. The dinner reservation - and Oxford. Shit, George. I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t worry about any of it,” George says, giving his knee another squeeze as they pull into his driveway. “There are other weekends. What matters is you’re safe. You really terrified me, Alex.”

He shifts his car into park and unfastens his seatbelt, twisting his body to the side so he can face Alex. He’s vaguely reminded of the first days they’d spent together - when sometimes this car was their only escape, when he’d bring Alex to the edge just to tease him. _Don’t you dare come on these seats,_ he’d growl low in his ear. More often than not, he’d take pity - take Alex in his mouth or push his own seat back and pull him into his lap. Let him finish that way.

Alex presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know. I know I scared you, I said I was sorry - ”

“OK, you’re all right,” George says, trying to keep his voice soothing. He gives Alex’s thigh a final squeeze before getting out of the car and circling around to the passenger’s door.

Alex doesn’t need help - he’s not hurt - but that doesn’t stop George from keeping a steadying hand on the small of his back as they walk to George’s apartment together. Once they’re inside, Alex toes off his shoes and sprawls face down onto the black leather sectional. George watches him with mild amusement as he crosses over into the kitchen and switches on the electric kettle.

“Blueberry tea?” he asks, nodding when Alex responds with an affirmative grunt. He pulls out a tin of blueberry tea leaves, peppermint for himself. He pulls their tea infuser mugs out of the cabinets - Alex used to tease him mercilessly for this, wondering why he didn’t just use bagged tea. Alex would never admit it to anyone, not even George, but he’s turned into a tea snob, now.

“What have you had to eat today?” George asks, watching as Alex props himself up on his elbows to look over at him.

“Croissant and coffee for breakfast,” he recalls, looking up to the ceiling. “Some Chinese dumplings for lunch.” 

George can’t help but roll his eyes. He stocks Alex’s fridge on a weekly basis, and this is what he’s eating? “Do you want some stuffed peppers?”

Alex shakes his head, sinking back down into the couch and pulling one of George’s throw blankets over his body. “No, no, don’t cook for me tonight. Take me out to brunch or something tomorrow, just don’t - come here.”

George nods and makes his way back into the living room, sets their tea mugs down side by side on one of the end tables. Alex pulls himself up, making room for him on the couch and curling against George’s side when he sits. George runs his hand up and down Alex’s back, soothing him even as the redness in his face clears up. 

After a few minutes, Alex’s hand ghosts down the length of his thigh and his lips are pressed into his neck - chapped, but nowhere near undesirable. George’s breath hitches and his hand stills on the small of Alex’s back.

“Let me make tonight up to you,” he whispers into George’s neck, nipping the thin skin there. George can’t help but shiver, but he shakes his head and carefully pulls himself away from Alex, willing himself not to be swayed by the way Alex’s face drops and his eyes water.

“Not now,” he says. “I still need you to tell me what happened tonight - on your own time. But I can’t - not without knowing if you’re even OK." 

Alex stares at him for a moment. Nods. “OK.”

George cocks an eyebrow. He didn’t think it would be this easy. Alex rarely makes things easy.

Alex looks down, licks his lips once, and then starts.

“I was waiting for the train in Chinatown after lunch.There’s this guy - next to me on the platform. Business suit, clean cut, your height. Had his briefcase with him. His earbuds were in and he was talking to someone - maybe his wife, I don’t know. He had a wedding ring, totally looked like a catalog model. Anyway, I was just noticing these little things about him - we’re shoulder to shoulder on the platform. He finishes up his phone conversation, takes one ear bud out, and he turns to me and asks where the National Archives are. I tell him, that’s easy, man, you just take the Green or Yellow line from here, doesn’t matter which one. He just nods and thanks me. I’m standing there thinking about how weird that is - he doesn’t look like a tourist. He should know his way around. We’re literally one stop away from the Archives. The train’s coming and just as I’m about to tell him this is the one he wants to hop on, he just - ”

George closes his eyes when he sees Alex’s own fill with tears. He grabs hold of his hand, squeezing it.

“He’s gone. Like that. I don’t even remember what happened next, but I just walked away. Walked out and ordered an Uber. I went back to the office. I wanted to see you, but Lafayette said you were out for meetings the rest of the day. I just did my work, told myself it was fine - I’ve seen my fair share of this shit. Nothing new. But then I started thinking about it more - like, I was the last person this guy spoke to. And he asked me such a stupid question because he just wanted to-”

Alex breaks, then, and George pulls him against his chest. He doesn’t cry, but he’s trembling and gasping for air. George buries his nose in the top of his head, smells his shampoo and just tries to be a solid rock for him. He’s good at that - the whole stability thing. 

“That’s why I went to John. He was there with me when it happened the last time. In Manhattan. Our own god damn friend. She was chatting with us the next minute, hurling herself in front of the 1 train the next. John, he - he couldn’t handle it. That’s putting it lightly. I knew if I went to him it would just - things would be OK. He would understand.”

George says nothing, just holds him a little tighter.

“I’ve seen - I think this is my fourth,” Alex continues, sniffling into George’s shirt, unable to bear the silence. “And I’ve never felt - not like this. _Fuck_ , is this whole loving monogamous relationship thing supposed to make me feel other things, too? Because I don’t want any part of it.”

He laughs brokenly at himself and buries his face into George’s chest. They stay like that for a moment.

“You’re quiet,” Alex finally says.

 _And you’re rambling,_ George thinks to himself, lovingly.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he says instead, fingers dancing on the back of Alex’s neck. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t at the office when you came back from lunch. I wish I could’ve been there, but I’m glad John took care of you.”

Alex leans back, looking up at him, studying his face carefully. 

“You are?” he asks uncertainly, squeezing Washington’s forearm. “Because I don’t want you to think - John and I…I’ll always love him. That will never change. But it’s in a different way, you know? We tried the other way, but we couldn’t make it work.”

“I’m glad you have a friend like him,” George says, carefully. “He means a lot to you. I would never resent him because he’s privy to parts of your life I’m not.”

Alex smiles - it’s small, but it’s still the first smile George has seen from him since this morning at the office. “Sometimes it’s easier to just go to what’s familiar, you know? Easier. Maybe not better.”

George considers this - how Martha was with him, in his college dorm room, the afternoon he found out his brother, Lawrence, had died suddenly. Only 33 years old, four children, leaving a young widow. He remembers that day so well - uncharacteristically beautiful for the season, just a week away from final exams. Martha had held him, talked him through the worst of it. Organized his lecture notes, brought him food when he forgot to eat. Every year now, on that day, they have brunch together and Skype with his nephew and three nieces. It’s a bit of a strange tradition, he knows it, but it’s what they do. Something he needs Martha for - something that wouldn’t make sense to Alex, at least initially.

George laces their fingers together and Alex brings his hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Thank you. For getting it. I love you.”

George feels a warmth spread through his body at that because, unless he’s mistaken, it’s the first time Alex has said those three words without closing his eyes, in the middle of fucking, or during the blissful aftermath. Not that those times didn’t count - they most certainly did -but there’s something to be said about this moment, hearing it when they’re just sitting on his couch, talking.

He pecks Alex lightly on the corner of his mouth, smiling into it. “Love you, too. Now, your tea’s getting cold.”

Alex frowns past George’s shoulder at the mug, scrunching his nose. “Throw it in the microwave for me?”

George shoots him a look and climbs off the couch, untangling himself from Alex’s limbs. “I’m making you fresh tea,” he says, scooping up both mugs and padding his way back to the kitchen. “The flavor won’t be as robust if it’s reheated.”

“Oh, my God,” he hears Alex say, mostly to himself, followed by the sound of the TV switching on. “Hey, babe? I’m giving you three choices tonight - Law & Order: SVU marathon, Sex and the City or Kardashian reruns?”

 George bites down on his lip to keep from laughing and grabs a couple KIND bars from the pantry - the ones he knows Martha loves so much. Still full of sugar, so she eats them on “indulgence” days, she says. Alex still needs to eat, and George doubts he’s going to get much cooking done tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over at [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you'd like to say hi. 
> 
>  


End file.
